


Light Up the Dark

by BajillionKittens



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (but not until the very end), End of Season One Divergent, Gen, Getting the Band Back Together, Hance-esque, Hunk-centric, I do all my own stunts--and art., Let's talk about anxiety!, Let's talk about caves!, Let's talk about radio telescopes!, Memory Loss, Shiro is Hunk's Baby Duck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BajillionKittens/pseuds/BajillionKittens
Summary: In the aftermath of the wormhole incident, Hunk is lost and alone. So, he and his anxiety build themselves a radio telescope to scan the skies for their fellow Paladins while waiting to be rescued. Hunk manages to find Shiro and the Black Lion crash-landed on a small planet that's home to a cult obsessed with healing. While Hunk is grateful for their treatment of Shiro's physical wounds, their healing of his mental wounds—removing his thoughts and memories—Hunk could have done without. Now Hunk and Shiro are camped out on a cave-dotted jungle world, still scanning the skies, still waiting to be rescued, and trying "light up the dark."-----9 Chapters + Bonus Chapter + 4-Panel Parody Comic Strips = 11 Installments





	1. Radio Telescopes

"Allura? Coran?" Having broken free of the final planet in the local system's thin atmosphere, Hunk frantically turned the Yellow Lion's visuals back and forth, up and down, scanning the endless starscape for any sign of the castle, any sign of the lions. The cosmos stretched out before him, answering back with only static. Nothing. He swallowed hard.

Hunk steadied the Lion's trajectory with unsteady hands. They had no destination in mind, but no need to keep rocking his own ship and make the situation worse. He attempted another transmission. "Keith? Pidge?"

Nothing. 

Maybe it wasn't an issue of the planets' magnetic fields or the star's radiation as he'd tried to reason with himself several hours and six planets ago. (Okay, Hunk. Deep breath.) 

"Lance? C'mon, buddy. Don't leave me all alone like this." Oh man. This was not good. Not good at all. Was it… was it a mechanical issue—was his Lion broken? Was it a matter of signal—was he too far away for them to hear him—how far did his signal carry to begin with—was there any way for him to enhance his signal strength? Or was it an issue on the other end… what if… what if there was no one left to hear him? 

"Shiro…?" Hunk whispered weakly. He waited, drifting directionless into the emptiness beyond the pull of the local star, listened. Tics, seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed. He couldn't tell anymore. Again, there was no response. Nothing. Only the "silent" screeching static of space.

Hunk slumped down in his seat, allowed himself to collapse under the pressure. Muscle by muscle, piece by piece, it all came down. (They're gone.) He took his shaking hands from the controls to grip his helmet and jerk it off. Trembling fingers shoved deep into his hair, grabbing tight and feeling the tear of his grip pulling strands from their follicles. (You're all alone. You're going to die out here—all alone.) (At least use the bandana. That's what it's for.) His breath began to drag and catch, the weight of the world—the weight of the universe!—bearing down on his chest. (You failed. You lost. You're useless. You. Are. Nothing.) He pressed his eyes shut, soothing a burn he hadn't realized was there. (Nothing.) Heavy, reluctant tears began to form on his lashes. (Nothing!)

(Nothing…)

(No.) 

"No," Hunk said, voice quivering. (Deep breaths.) The firm, steady grip on his hair flexed back to open, unsteady fingers. He wiped at his eyes, pulling the tears away on his gloves and clearing his vision to stare into the star-studded depths once more. "I haven't failed. Not yet. And I am not 'nothing.'" A low rumble of agreement reverberated deep in Hunk's chest, and for the first time since he'd woken up on the other side of the wormhole, he allowed himself a small smile. He wasn't alone after all. 

One final deep, shaking breath and Hunk was ready to pull himself back up. He righted himself in the cockpit and did his best to right his mind. "They're all out there somewhere. I just have to find them. I can figure a way out of this." (Our thoughts become our reality.) "Okay. Standard communications are a no go. If nothing else, I've established that. Nothing on visuals. What else have we got?" He glanced around the cockpit. Lights and buttons and screens. They'd been paladins for what, a week? They'd probably only scratched the surface of what the lions were capable. There had to be something. Something he could use. "Looking… Looking… Looking…" Watching the wavelength of his voice curve along a screen to his left, something triggered in his memory. 

Lance had never believed him when he'd brought it up, but some of the biggest telescopes on Earth hadn't been built to look at the universe. They'd been built to listen to it. Hunk's smile grew ten fold. "Voltron Geiger Counter."

.....

Once upon a time, during the earliest years of the Galaxy Garrison, the powers that be decided it would be a great idea to send the first year cadets into the cave systems on the grounds for some team building exercises. Thus, an age old tradition, a rite of passage had been born. Hunk remembered exactly three things about his own experience underground: First, the majority of the cadets in his group were complete and total jerks. He couldn't fit through the final narrow crawl at the end of their trail and therefore caused them all to take the three times as long workaround over a massive breakdown pile. (You're useless.) Never mind that he happened to be an excellent caver—given that he'd never gone caving before what with the sea caves back home being strictly off limits according to his grandparents—and had helped a number of the others up to the final crawl and continued to do so as they made their way over the breakdown pile. (You're nothing.) Yeah, and it's not like he was sensitive to his "size issues" either. Thanks, Garrison! Second, before entering a cave, you need to ensure you have ample light sources, 'cause it's dark down there. As dark as it gets. Like, total darkness dark. No light what-so-ever. Dark. Third, one of the primary rules of caving was to stay where you were and wait to be rescued in the event of an accident.

From the moment he'd found himself separated from the others, the memory of the caves had begun to bubble up, bringing a host of emotions along with it. Subtle pangs of embarrassment and shame at his incapabilities, his unpreparedness, and his conscious disregard for his training gnawed at him. (You've failed. You're useless. You're nothing!) 

Hunk did his best to convince himself that his incapabilities and unpreparedness were forgone issues. He couldn't go back and time and fix anything. All he could do now was try to do better in the future. When it came to his disregard for his training, however, that was a very present issue. Granted, being lost in the far reaches of the wide open, infinite universe was a bit different than being lost in the dark, rocky, well mapped confines of the caves. Still, Hunk felt some responsibility to follow the rules and wait where he was. Even though he was fairly sure that certain other former cadets had probably forgotten that little bit of training. He was totally going to follow through now that he'd disproven his theories on why his communications weren't working, though. He was going to park the Yellow Lion and wait.

Or at least he was going to park and wait while he built his makeshift radio telescope to attempt to track the Lions' unique radio frequency.

The cold, rocky planetoid he'd landed on wasn't exactly the sort of place Hunk would want to call home for the rest of eternity. It was gray, desolate, dead: the perfect parking lot. If he couldn't find a signal to point him toward the others, he'd at least try to find a more habitable place to wait to be rescued. Preferably a place with things like food, water, a breathable atmosphere… With any luck though, he'd be heading out in search of his friends soon enough. Then he could do the whole "stay where you are" thing with someone other than the Yellow Lion to talk to.

"This will at least get us pointed in the right direction," Hunk said, sitting cross-legged amidst a mess of wires, tools, and bits of scrap metal splayed across the floor of the cockpit. He propped his Altean for-lack-of-a-better-word tablet against a bit of debris and watched the first bits of data fed in from his cobbled together satellite dish sitting outside on the planetoid's surface. "Once we're closer, I'll be able to zero in on the Lion's exact location. Kind of like how we found Blue back on Earth."

Something like a purr, maybe closer to a growl, echoed off the cool metal walls of the cockpit. Whether his giant semi-sentient mechanical alien cat truly understood or not, Hunk wasn't sure. It wasn't like Yellow had been there to see the event. But the sound was positive enough. Yellow was good for small talk, but Hunk wanted, no, needed to hear the sound of a voice—his own even—to help drown out the ones no one else heard.

"I guess it would be too much to ask to get a signal from a nacho planet," Hunk mused. He eyed the half empty tube of emergency food goo on the arm rest of the pilot's seat with something bordering on annoyance. "At this point, I think I deserve it."

In getting his radio telescope up and running, Hunk had also taken inventory of his emergency provisions. While his data streamed in on the tablet, he busied himself with a notebook and pen, planning out his rationing system. With X number of food goo tubes, allowing for Y per day, he could go for Z days before needing a supplemental food supply. With A number of water packs, allowing for B per day, he could go for C days before needing to find another fresh water source. What value of Y and B allowed for the highest yield in Z and C. Once or twice the voices in his head reminded him that he could potentially be determining how long he had before he died alone, lost in space, but there was a comfort in the numbers that silenced the voices soon enough. The numbers kept him busy, kept him distracted, kept the voices quiet. The numbers also gave him a concrete outlook on his situation. There was no more "what if," only "what is." The logical, scientific, engineering part of his brain held to those numbers like they were a single candle in the darkness of the Garrison's caves.

Once Hunk had run a set of numbers in his notebook, he'd check the data on his tablet. His programming skills weren't necessarily as strong as Pidge's, so he wasn't completely sure his alarm would sound once the Lion's frequency was detected. He was pretty sure it would, but until he did pick up a signal, he couldn't know for sure. Regularly checking his data would act as a safety net, not allowing any chance of finding the others to fall through the cracks. He'd survive. He'd find them. (Our thoughts become our reality.) 

Run a set of number, check the data. Set of numbers, data. Set of numbers, doodle of the castle, data. No less than fifty plans on how to make use of his meager emergency rations—including variables such as decreasing food goo consumption along a bell curve and decreasing water consumption in relation to the creation of waste water which could then be recycled—soon filled Hunk's notebook with figures, but the read outs from his radio telescope still read the same: nothing.

(Of course it didn't work. Why did you think it would? You failed. Again. You're useless. You're nothing.) (You've only started.) (Does the telescope even work? Could Yellow be interfering with the signal?)

Hunk lay back on the debris-laden floor with a sigh, using his notebook and its scribbles as a pillow. As infinite as they were, he feared he would soon run out of numbers. "It's a big universe, I guess." 

With little else to do, Hunk attempted to balance his pen on his nose, caught it as it teetered off to one side, and again tried to balance it just so before it inevitably fell. Another very forced, very frustrated sigh huffed out from his gut. He needed another "candle." 

"Or maybe I should hope for a crossword or Sudoku planet." Hunk sat up to grab his tablet, the small device dwarfed by his large, frustrated hands, before flopping back to the floor in a huff. Ignoring his data read out—still nothing!—he began forcefully swiping through the screens. Images, icons, and bits of Altean script passed by under his fingertips. Between his curiosity, Pidge's determination, Lance's dumb luck, and Coran's brief moments of being able to give short answers to simple questions, Hunk had gained a basic understanding of and could identify the icons for about five programs on the device. The rest remained a mystery. Just the other day, though, Lance had stumbled onto something that looked like a card game. That was promising.

Coran had tried to explain the game in the way he typically tried to explain things, meaning in the most drawn out way possible with lots of seemingly useless but sentimentally important details. What Hunk had gathered from Coran's explanation was this: The game was difficult. Lots of math. Constant planning—twelve steps ahead with twenty different solutions. It took years to master. Alteans had driven themselves to the brink of insanity trying to do so—Coran's great uncle included. 

Whatever the game was called, it sounded like the perfect distraction, a great "candle." Hunk only needed to figure out how Lance had stumbled upon it.

"He was fooling around with the camera…" Hunk's thick, gloved finger hovered above unknown icons, veering toward one, then deciding against it in favor of another, only to think better of it as well. That one didn't look quite right. He thought that was some sort of word processor. Um. Might as well try that one. "Wait. No. That's not it. That's the gallery. I knew that."

Before he could remember how to swipe back to the previous screen, a stack of photos filled the display with bright colors and sharp details. Hunk paused, his body frozen by a burst of sudden, unexpected emotion. Hope. Joy. Sadness. Longing. He hesitated, worrying his bottom lip. Then, with a slow, deliberate swipe across the screen, he set the images cascading one after another. Lance's selfies with everyone and everything, Pidge's photobombs in said selfies, Hunk's attempts at documenting their day to day lives in the farthest reaches of the universe. Snapshots of what he was trying to get back to. 

The logical part of his brain said he shouldn't be succumbing to sentimentality so early in what could be a long solo flight. (This will end badly. You're setting yourself up for disappointment. Stop now or regret it later.) But the emotional part of his brain remained quiet, still, content for the moment to flip through the photos and bask in the mixed warmth and chill of emotions along with him. The flow of photos trickled to a halt with Allura and Coran doing maintenance to the castle, the two of them crouched low beside an open panel, each of them with a pair of crystals in hand.

"Unless something happened," Hunk said, giving voice to a line of thought to quiet his logical brain, "Allura and Coran should both still be with the castle. At least they're together. And there's no way they're not trying to find us right this second. Allura can feel the Lions—they're tied to her. She'll be able to find me without the com systems. No problem." He flicked a thick finger across the center of the screen. Another photo, another set of familiar faces. 

With the limited background, it was hard to make out where the photo was taken. In one small corner of the photo, Keith and Shiro stood facing one another, their eyes locked, expressions were serious, but not angry. The top half of Pidge's face, her eyes giving an exaggerated roll, filled the rest of the frame. Hunk allowed himself a dry chuckle. "Keith's probably glad to have some alone time, but I know he still misses us. Or at least I know he misses Shiro. But Shiro's been through worse than this. He'll be fine. He's probably found Coran and Allura by now." (He was wounded. What if he's—) (He's Shiro. He'll be fine.) "And Pidge? Ha, Pidge has no reason to miss us. She's probably built our cyborg replacements by now. Far more efficient." Hunk flicked the screen. "Robo-Lance even comes with android themed pick-up lines." And speak of the devil… 

Standing atop Blue's nose, the tablet's lens held at arm's length above him, Lance looked up at the camera with the same warm, mischievous, dangerous grin that had landed Hunk in the principal's office more times than he cared to count. It was also the same expression that had, more than once or twice, showed Hunk the time of his life. "Lance…" (Stop. Stop now. No more.) "Lance'll be freaking out. Which is kind of normal for him, now that I think about it. Kind of normal for me, too. But… I hope someone finds him. I hope I find him. I don't want him to be alone." Arms going limp, Hunk allowed the tablet to sink to his chest. He let out a long, low groan to fight back the tremble of sobs threatening to break through. "Logical brain was right. I should have listened."

A shrill, chirping alarm filled the cockpit. Hunk sat bolt upright, the tablet tumbling to his lap in the process. "What?! Wha—a signal!" He picked up the tablet once more, frantically sweeping away the photos for open his data readings. Alerts and maps flashed onto the screen. "From where? Whoah. Man, that's far. Like, really far." Hunk worried his bottom lip again. (Is this the closest signal? Or just the first signal you've picked up? Should you run more scans? What if there's a closer signal?) (I don't want to be alone anymore.) "Think we can make it, Yellow?" Another purr-growl shook the cockpit. Hunk smiled at that. "All right! Let me pull the satellite and we'll head out!"


	2. Friend Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shiro!" Hunk called out over the coms, voice breaking. "Shiro, can you hear me?! Oh man, am I glad to see you! Hello? Hello…?" There was no response. Hunk eyed his controls, tapping a gloved finger at the panels. "Guess this thing really is busted."

The planet was one of only four circling a small star on the far reaches of a spiral galaxy. Heavy gray cloud cover blanketed the areas rotating toward morning and nightfall. Openings under the mid-day sun allowed for patches of nearly black browns, bright yellow greens, deep maroons, and faded golds to peek through. Hunk eased Yellow down into the atmosphere, cruising just above the cloudline. Below them passed gently rolling hills, long winding rivers, low lying vegetation, and small clusters of silver-white bubble-shaped structures rising up from the valley floors. Whether it helped or hurt, Hunk wasn't sure yet, but it looked like a hard place to hide a giant robot.

Hunk followed the curve of a river as it cut its way through the topography. He was getting closer. The tablet buzzed and whirred with the readings from his Voltron Geiger Counter 2.0, but even without it, he knew. He was flying on instinct. There was some sort of energy starting to hum along his nerve endings, leaving behind an acidic tingle of worry and fear—different from his own acidic tingle of worry and fear. It was a decidedly uncomfortable feeling, as thought it was trying to eat him away from the inside. Still, something told him to seek it out. The stronger the energy grew, the closer he was getting to… to…

(It's not Lance.)

The muscles along Hunk's shoulders tighten at the realization. He wasn't sure what part of him thought it, but he knew it was true. The corners of his mouth tensed.

The energy he was feeling, it was unpleasant, yes, but also muddled and indecipherable. It didn't feel "blue." "Blue" like warm, carefree laughter on a cloudless day with the sun reflecting off the waves. Nor did it feel "green," with the anticipation of what was around the turn of the trail, over the rise of the next hill. Nor "red," holding onto its energy until it burst forth in a blaze of honest emotion. Nor was it "black," at peace with and connected to the immensity of the universe on a starry night. It was… faded. Washed out. Colorless. Worried and fearful, but also empty. Nothing.

Hunk kept his eyes trained on the ground below. "Come on, guys. I know you're out there…"

The low light of the afternoon filtered down through the cloud cover, softening the landscape. The star's light bounced off the flowing liquid of the river with only a faint glimmer. The shadows cast by the undersized flora blended gently with the coming darkness. The curving ridge of the hills faded away to clouds. 

The tablet was squalling. The worrying, fearful acid was threatening to melt through him. He was close. So close. Almost there…

Just over the next rise shone the barest glint of something metallic. 

"There!" Yellow let loose a roar as Hunk drove him down through the cloud cover to hit the hillside with all four feet. The hulking mechanical cat ambled over the top, his mammoth paws moving as fast as they could carry him. "Holy crow! It's Black!" 

At the sight of the Black Lion—curled on her side at the end of a deep gash into the dark, rich-looking soil though she was—an immediate rush of relief seemed to wash over Hunk. Every tight muscle, every dull ache, every acidic twinge was gone. He was nearly trembling from the release. "Shiro!" he called out over the coms, voice breaking. "Shiro, can you hear me?! Oh man, am I glad to see you! Hello? Hello…?" There was no response. Hunk eyed his controls, tapping a gloved finger at the panels. "Guess this thing really is busted."

The moment Yellow came to a standstill, cutting deep furrows of his own into the dirt, Hunk was scrambling to make his way to the Black Lion. He tripped over the tools he'd left strew about his cockpit, slid down Yellow's lowered ramp, and stumbled into the low lying vegetation with a single minded drive to see a familiar face. "Shiro!" he called across the gap between the Lions, cutting through the big-leafed, maroon-colored flora until he reached Black's tilted, half-open mouth. Hunk popped his head inside. "Shiro?" 

His voice reverberated back to him, "-rooo." Hunk frowned at that, his brows drawing together. 

(No. He's here. He has to be here.)

With a huff, Hunk pulled himself up into the Lion's jaw. The angle was a challenge, leaving him half walking on the walls as he made his way inside. "Shiro, you in here?" The dying natural light still filtering in on the visuals left the cockpit dimmed to near darkness, everything colored in a wash of dark grays. "…in the dark?" Hunk took two fumbling, cursing half wall-half floor steps before activating his armor. The blue-white glow of Altea lit the room with a familiar, comforting light, giving it shape and color. 

Color that froze Hunk where he stood. The pristine whites and grays of the cockpit were marred by dark, browning reds. Splattered across the floors, the controls, the walls… 

(That's… that's a lot of blood.) 

And aside from a discarded helmet sitting at the foot of the controls, there was no sign of the paladin it once belonged to. The tingling fear and worry hadn't gone anywhere. It had merely been covered up by a rush of adrenaline, a rush which was quickly leaving Hunk to suffer the full force of the acid dancing across his nerves by himself. He was weak-kneed and had to lean against the askewed walls for support. 

Hunk felt his hands heading for his scalp. (He's dead. He's gone. You're all alone. You've failed.) 

(No.) 

He forcefully ran his fingers through his hair before jamming his arms back to his sides. "Come on, Hunk. He didn't just disappear. Someone—or something—took him." He turned his dark eyes about the cockpit, looking for clues as to who or what. Nearly hidden amidst the bloodshed that colored the cockpit were scattered, mismatched, dark brown and dirtied crimson footprints dotting the floors and walls. Hunk studied them, attempting to give bodies to them in his mind to trace their movements. There were so many of them. "And maybe—just maybe—they took Shiro to help him and not to hurt him." Hunk retraced his steps, in turn retracing the others' steps, to Black's open mouth.

The path Hunk had cut through the vegetation—overturned leaves, broken stalks, bent stems—was clearly visible even in the dying light, a straight line between the two lions. But there was a second, less noticeable path curving around the side of the hill. Maybe the ones who'd made it had been more careful about how they passed through the open field, or maybe they had passed through a number of days ago, allowing the plants to recover. Whatever the reason, their path wouldn't be nearly as easy to follow. "Only one way to find out."

.....

At the bottom of the hill, the winding, half-there path through the vegetation joined a well-traveled dirt trail running parallel to the riverbed. In the midst of wracking his brain to try to remember how long before finding the Black Lion he'd seen the last village during his flyover and whether or not he'd happened to catch sight of one in the distance, Hunk felt the acrid tingle jolt his senses to guide him on. "Upriver it is, then."

Hunk kept his bayard out, but not active, a dead weight in his hand for the time being. He needed to be ready, he told himself. Ready in case the inhabitants decided to do to him whatever they had done to Shiro. 

But then again… if they'd managed to take Shiro down—even if he was injured—what chance would Hunk have? Sure, he had his bayard and the Yellow Lion, but what if they managed to sneak up on him? There was no way Hunk could win in a fight if Shiro hadn't. Some of those footprints were huge! And if the locals hadn't killed Shiro, only taken him hostage, how was Hunk going to rescue him? How would he even know if they'd taken Shiro hostage versus killing him? What if he was walking straight into a trap? Then they could take him hostage too! Who would save them then?

"Ah." 

Hunk jumped straight in the air.

The noise had shaken him from his panicked thoughts and back into the present. He landed in a crouch. One arm covered his head, shielding his face. His other arm held his bayard aloft. His still inactive bayard. Which he had meant to use in a very primitive manner on whoever had… uttered such a totally unthreatening little sigh of acknowledgement. Hunk cracked one eye open to peer around his armored forearm at his would-be attacker. Just behind him stood what he could only think to call an oversized meerkat: long tail, small tufted ears, a full head taller than himself, wrapped in a plain-looking off-white cloth, carrying a basket on its hip, and staring at him with a not-unpleasant, slightly surprised, mildly amused expression on its face.

"We did not know there were others," the not-meerkat said, a serene smile curving the fur-covered features of its wide face as it continued to look Hunk up and down. "You must be… Friend Yellow?"

Hunk remembered himself and lower his bayard back to his side as he rather embarrassedly stood his full height once more. "I'm sorry. I just—I—uhh—" He would go to his grave never telling anyone—okay, maybe Lance—that he had attempted to throw his bayard at an assailant rather than use it as intended. Stupid mistake and seemingly sweet-natured fuzzy animal-person aside, he needed to remain cautious. He cleared his throat. "I'm looking for my friend."

"Yes, Friend Black." The not-meerkat swept its arm toward the cluster of bubble-like buildings in the distance in an overly theatric but welcoming, beckoning gesture. "Come, he has been healed." 

The closer Hunk and his new "friend" got to the village center, the more silver-white, clay-like structures lined the path, and the more inhabitants they encountered. There were a few more not-meerkats, but also small pill bug-ish creatures who came no higher than Hunk's knee, violet-colored bull-like aliens that towered over him, blueish seamonkey-esque humanoids with three eyes and long antenna, beings Hunk couldn't even begin to describe, even one could-have-been-Galra—a whole array of the universe's diversity on display in one tiny village. For all their differences though, there were marked similarities as well. Their clothing: all were wrapped in the same simple off-white looking cloth. Their expressions: all bore the same pleasant smile. And their speech: all murmured variations on the same phrases to one another as Hunk passed by. "We did not know there were others." "He must be Friend Yellow." 

A number of the same-clothed, same-faced, same-speaking inhabitants began to follow along behind Hunk and his not-meerkat guide as they made their way through the village. 

Something about the whole thing was giving Hunk a bad feeling—and he had a pretty good track record on those. Unfortunately. Combine that with the uncomfortable energy still tingling along his nerves, begging him to keep moving, keep looking, find Shiro, and he was drowning in dread. Honestly, he kind of wanted to throw up from it all. And if given half the chance and a little privacy, he thought he might follow through on that desire. 

The not-meerkat paused in front of an unassuming, multi-bubbled building in the middle of an open area at the center of the village. Again, the not-meerkat made a grand gesture, sweeping its arm toward the arched, cloth-covered doorway. "The elder will look upon you and see that you are healed," it said. Hunk's gathered entourage hummed softly. Which was weird. But he ignored it.

"Thank you for your help," Hunk said to the not-meerkat, earning him a bow of its head. Hunk pulled the cloth aside and poked his head into the doorway.

A tall, thin, long limbed, long faced, praying mantis like alien with a flowing white beard and wrinkled serene expression, dressed in a simple wrapped cloth looked up from a low lying table at the center of the room. "Ah. Friend Yellow," he said in greeting, looking up from an assortment of scrolls he had spread before him on the table. "We did not know there were others." Yeah, Hunk had kind of gotten that impression. "Come." The elder motioned with one of his long, segmented arms to the cushion opposite him. Hunk stepped into the building, moving close to the table—partly to allow his parade of followers to file into the room behind him—but remained standing. The elder began collecting his scrolls with two of his four arms. "It had been many cycles since last we encountered your kind, many cycles. We thought your kind had vanished from the universe." The elder looked up from his work, something quirking his smile to the side. "We were wrong." The elder moved his scrolls off the table and to the floor. He again motioned at the open seat across the table. "You appear weary, Friend Yellow. Sit. Drink. Be healed."

Hunk eyed the cushion but made no movement. "Um, actually, if you could just tell me about my friend—"

The elder's antenna-like eyebrows rose nearly half way up his face. "We will speak on that once you are healed, Friend Yellow." 

There was a finality to the elder's voice that Hunk found unnerving. Begrudgingly, he knelt on the offered cushion. One of the tiny pill bug aliens approached the table with a serving tray consisting of a simple cup and an overly modest metal kettle. It filled the cup with an orange-red tea and sat it on the table before Hunk, giving him a serene smile before backing away. Hunk eyed the cup warily. It wasn't that he didn't like tea—he loved it! And it wasn't that he thought it was bad tea—it smelled amazing! And it wasn't that the cultic hodge-podge of aliens could possibly be poisoning him—because that could totally be a thing that was happening! It was that his stomach was tied up in so many knots he didn't think he could get more than one sip of the stuff down without puking on interplanetary politics. But, when on alien planets, do as the aliens do, he supposed. Hunk took the offered cup in his hand, swirled the liquid a few times to check its consistency, then—GULP!—down the hatch it went in one oversized swallow.

A wave of titters arose from the surrounding group. The creases around the elder's eyes deepened as his smile stretched his face even more so. "Are you still weary, Friend Yellow?" he asked, obvious amusement punctuating the question.

Hunk blinked. For the second time that day, he felt… okay. Relieved. At peace. His mind was clear. His body was at ease. Perhaps most importantly, he didn't want to throw up. Hunk tipped the small cup in his hand to stare into what remained of its contents. "No, actually. What's in this?"

"Our own blend," the elder said. 

"Good stuff." The knee-high pill bug stepped forward with its serving tray once more. Hunk turned to accept the offering, but in a flash, the acid was back, becoming ever more insistent. Shiro—he had to find Shiro! His stomach lurched. Hunk sat the cup back on the table, pushing it away from himself. "Am I, uh, am I healed now?" he asked sheepishly. "Can you tell me where Shi—'Friend Black' is?" 

The elder's face sobered, his smile turning to a straight line, his brows drifting back down to more familiar heights. The assembled masses hung their heads as he began to speak. "Friend Black was very much in need of healing when he came to us, very much in need."

"But you were able to do it, right?" Hunk asked, leaning forward against the table. "I was told he'd been healed."

"Oh yes," the elder said. His expression lightened. "It took our brothers and sisters many moonrises tending him before he was healed completely. Very much in need. Even now, he continues to rest." The elder extended one of his three-jointed arms toward an arched doorway leading to another room in the structure.

Hunk leaned as far forward as he could, putting both hands onto the table to hold his weight. His gaze followed the line of the elder's long arm, trying to somehow peer around the walls and into the darkened room beyond. So close. He was so close. "Can I see him?" Hunk asked. "I want to make sure he's okay." The elder's expression faltered somewhat as though Hunk had somehow questioned whether he had been truthful in his claims. Hunk backpedaled, sought for the words to cover the misunderstanding. "I'll feel better, maybe more 'healed,' if I do?"

The elder seemed to think on his request for a moment, brows drawing down,making a low hum which the group at Hunk's rear echoed back to him. Again, kind of weird. Once he'd come to his decision, the hum ended and elder's antenna-brows lifted high on his head once more. "Come. You may look upon Friend Black so long as you do not disturb his rest." The elder rose to his feet and Hunk followed suit, following close behind him. Their entourage moved as well.

At the doorway, the elder used one arm to draw back the cloth covering the entrance while his other three beckoned Hunk onward. Hunk ducked his head around the pulled cloth and stepped into the darkened room. Lights like fireflies began to glow along the ceiling, revealing the room's simple furnishings—a bed and side table—and single occupant.

"Shiro…" Hunk heard himself say under his breath. He covered his mouth and crossed the small room in a single quick stride. Stretched across the bed on his back, head tilted to one side, with his chest slowly, steadily rising and falling, was a peacefully sleeping armor-clad Black Paladin. Hunk didn't know what to do with himself. Hold his hand? Check his injuries? Hunk looked Shiro up and down, his hand still covering his mouth, now to cover his gaping expression. Shiro was okay—Shiro was healed!

The elder stepped into the room and allowed the cloth to close behind him, giving them the smallest semblance of privacy. "The lacerations to his lateral were very deep, very infected. If we had not found Friend Black when we did, we fear he would not have survived," he explained, his voice low. "The toxins were difficult, very difficult. It took much time to heal the damage and replenish his body."

Hunk knelt by the side of the bed, examining the smooth skin peeking out through the hole in the side of Shiro's armor. He allowed himself a quiet "whoa" behind his hand. He'd seen the wound when it was fresh: shredded skin and muscle, a violet glow emanating from deep inside the gashes, a blackened bruise that seemed to spread before his eyes. Now, there was no sign of it ever having existed. Shiro was healed!

"The wounds to his body were quite severe, quite severe," the elder continued. "The wounds to his mind even more so. I fear we have never encountered such extensive mental wounds in our practice." So they'd noticed that too. Hunk stood, casting his glance toward Shiro's sleeping face. He fought the urge to brush the hair from Shiro's forehead, only half listening as the elder went on. "There was much too much damage, much too much. The only way for Friend Black to heal properly was to remove them all."

That caught Hunk's attention. He turned to the elder, allowed his hand to drop from his mouth. "Wait, 'remove?'" Hunk's bad feeling from earlier boomeranged back around to nudge him with a none too smug 'I told you so.' "Remove all of… what?" 

"His thoughts," the elder explained, a frightening matter-of-factness to his tone. "His memories."

Hunk turned his dark eyes toward Shiro, studying his sleeping face, looking for… something. "You removed his memories? Like, all of them? 'All of them,' all of them?"

"Oh yes," the elder said. "A very difficult procedure, very difficult. We are quite pleased with the results."

Hunk was going to be sick. (Oh man…) He had to fix this. Somehow. Without insulting the elder and his followers. If at all possible. "You know, I appreciate what you've done, I really do. And I'm sure Shiro—er—Friend Black, does too. But… is there any possible way to, I don't know…" Hunk struggled to find the words. "Can you reverse your healings?" 

There were gasps and murmurings coming from the other side of the cloth covering the door. The elder's antenna-brows lowered. 

"Don't get me wrong," Hunk continued, "healing the physical wound was great! It's really amazing work, and we are super grateful. But when it comes to his mental wounds… he kind of needs his memories, you know? Some of them at least. They're kind of what make him… him."

Now the others were beginning to file into the room one by one. Hunk backed up against the bed where Shiro lay completely unaware of the hole his Yellow Paladin was digging for them. (Walk it back, Hunk. Walk it back.) "I mean, if he asked for you to do that for him, who am I to question. Shiro can make his own decisions. But if he didn't, then I don't know if it's something he would have necessarily wanted. Not all of his memories at least." 

No less than fifteen faces stared him down—even the little pill bugs were somehow managing to stare down their not-noses at him threateningly—and more were attempting to squeeze into the room. Hunk was nearly sitting on Shiro's now healed side to make room for them all. "Um, if you can't undo it," he continued, his hands coming up to curl under his chin, "I guess that's no big deal. I was just, you know, checking. Seeing what our options were…"

The elder raised one long arm toward the ceiling. Everyone froze. Even the lights dancing along the ceiling held their positions. All noise in the room ceased. "We think it would be best," he began, voice cold and precise, "for you and your friend to leave."

Hunk held his hands in front of his chest in surrender. "No problem!" (No. No, no, no. Yes problem!) "We can leave, like, the village. But, um, one of our ships is damaged. Would we be able to stick around until it's fixed? We can't really leave it behind." (They're going to kill me. They're going to kill me right here. Good bye, universe. Good bye, Shiro. Good bye, Lance….)

The murmurings began anew, low and clipped. Whispers of "stranger," "we knew there were others." The elder again raised an arm, the room growing still and quiet once more. "You may have until the next moonrise."

"Sure. Sure, no problem." (How long are the days on this planet?) (How in the world am I going to fix the Black Lion?!) (Oh man. Oh man, oh man, ohman, ohman, OHMAN, OHMAN, OHMAN!) "Um, thank you again. I guess we'll be going now." Hunk shifted in place, trying not to brush up against any of the suddenly not-so-serene looking aliens filling the room. He slipped one of Shiro's arms across his shoulders to lift him up, the rush of sudden worry at how limp Shiro was in his grip forcing him to pause only momentarily. "No chance of getting a cot or anything to drag him on, I guess?" Someone growled. "Nope! Okay, we're going!"

.....

"Next time, we're parking closer to the village," Hunk said through panting breaths. He paused to heft Shiro's slowly sliding weight higher onto his back until Shiro's steady breaths fell by his ear once more. Allowing himself a quick glance at the path ahead, Hunk could see most of Black's overturned silhouette against the darkened night sky. Behind her, Yellow's glowing eyes looked down on them with what Hunk read as worry, but the Lion made no movement toward them.

"Just a little further, Shiro." Another small adjustment to his grip, and Hunk was ready to move again, carefully thrusting one foot in front of the other to keep plodding along through the dew-covered fields. "We're almost there. Not far now! Whew. I don't know how Keith and Lance did it. No offense, man, but you're heavier than you look." Shiro's weight began to sag low in his grasp again. Hunk groaned. "I could go for some more of that tea right about now. Better yet—where's my nacho planet?" 

(You're rambling.) 

"Yeah, I know." It gave him something to focus on other than his aching muscles, his dwindling energy, and his life, which was, pardon his language, a complete and total "clusterfuck" at the moment. "But at least the tingle's gone!" 

Another glance at the path ahead. "Come on, Hunk. You can do this. We can do this…" Hunk set his jaw, determined to power through the final stretch of their journey. He kept his eyes on his feet. The glow from his armor colored the big leaves that covered the fields a red-violet, the light glistened off the gathering dew. One foot in front of the other. Follow the path.

One foot in front of the other—you're getting closer! Follow the path. One foot in front of the other—oh man, was the field this big when he left? Follow the path. One foot in front of the other. Follow the path… around Black. Yellow lowered his big, broad head without prompting, dropping his entrance ramp. "Finally," Hunk said, his voice cracking with relief. His wet boots squeaked and slid on the polished metal floors of the Lion's interior. "Someday, Shiro, you are giving me, like, a mile long piggyback ride for this." 

The cockpit remained a mess, tools and materials still littering the floor. Hunk set to work clearing an appropriately Shiro-sized space of the floor with his boot, making slow, deliberate sweeping motions, careful not to throw himself and his added weight off balance. Then came the hard part: lowering Shiro to the floor without dropping him. "Easy. Easy…" Hunk coached himself through the sliding and shifting, catching and pulling. "Watch his head." 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hunk's emotional brain was having a meltdown. (He shouldn't be like this! Something's wrong! How will you fix this?! Can you fix this?! Oh man, oh man, OH MAN!) To keep him from coming to a total stand-still, his logical brain took charge. (Keep him comfortable.)

If a notebook was a good enough pillow for his own head, it would have to be good enough for the head of Voltron. Hunk gently lifted Shiro's head to tuck his notebook under it, then lowered it with just as much care. Somewhere between building a radio telescope and attempting to not pull out his hair, Hunk had found a reflective blanket stashed in with his emergency supplies. He gave it a gentle shake and pulled it over Shiro, making sure the whole of him was covered. "There we go. Home sweet alien cat head." 

Hunk sat back on the cockpit floor to admire his work with a small, forced smile. "Dude, we have got to stop meeting like this." 

It was funny in a bit of an ironic way, Hunk supposed, that Shiro had also been unconscious the first time they'd met. This time, though, this time was a little different. Hunk's smile began to fade to a frown. Then, Shiro had fought it, a defined crease forming between his eyes as he struggled in Keith and Lance's shared grip to come back to consciousness. Shiro had been worried, angry, panicked, or at least his gritted teeth and tense muscles had said as much. Even after they'd arrived at Keith's little desert shack and Shiro had seemingly resigned himself to sleep, his expression had remained severe. But now… there was nothing. Shiro's expression was blank. No creases in his brow. No tension to his muscles. No thoughts. No memories. Nothing. 

(Nothing.)

And nothing was all Hunk had left to give. His shoulders sagged. His head lolled. He could feel the bags growing under his eyes. In that moment, he had never felt more exhausted in his entire life. Whether it was the days of panic and worry catching up with him or the reality of his present situation finally sinking in—they had until the next moonrise—Hunk wasn't sure, and he honestly didn't have the energy to care. All that mattered was his need for sleep. He stretched out on the floor, shoving his mess out of the way to be dealt with in the morning, ventured one more glance toward Shiro—that would have to be dealt with in the morning as well—closed his eyes, and was instantly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lived in three states since the last chapter was posted. And that's why I don't keep an update schedule. Wee!
> 
> I'm currently working on a "Home Sweet Alien Cat Head" cross stitch. It's going to be amazing. Once it's complete, I'll come back to this chapter and post a link to it.
> 
> \-----
> 
> Seeking beta reader. Apply at [ http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com ]


	3. This is bad.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hi. Hello. Um, I'm Hunk, but you probably already knew that. Especially seeing as, I, uh, I fixed you earlier. And we had that little talk. Um, look, Shiro's kind of… not himself right now. Which. You also probably already knew. But we need to get off this planet, like, as soon as possible, if not before. I don't think Shiro will be up to piloting any time soon, and I'm not really sure the Yellow Lion would be able to carry you out of here, so I was wondering if maybe, just this once, I could possibly… pilot you?"

Hunk dreamed of caves: of stumbling through the darkness with dozens of lanterns that all refused to light, of wanting to stop and wait to be found but some force compelled him to keep moving, of attempting to squeeze through tight spots that shrunk smaller and smaller the more he tried to pass through, and of feeling an unseen hand holding his through it all. He awoke to a penetrating, unshakable unease that turned his stomach and exhausted his energies. In scenario after scenario, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't do anything right. He'd let "them" down, whoever "they" were—that fragile, helpless hand grasping his in the darkness. He was useless all night long. And given how he felt upon waking, there was a chance he'd be useless all day as well.

(It was just a dream.)

Hunk cracked an eye to confirm that was true and stared blearily at the day-lit ceiling of Yellow's cockpit. Morning had found him. He ran a gloved hand down his face to try to wipe away the mood before opening both eyes to truly face the day. "I've got so much to do…"

The bit of floor he'd made his bed had proven itself to be quite uncomfortable—or maybe it was the fact he'd slept on his jetpack. As Hunk sat up, he began to stretch out his aching neck and back and noticed tension already starting to build across his muscles. Reality was beginning to set in: they had until moonrise.

The logical part of Hunk's brain was already unraveling the problem, breaking it down, and setting things in order. It worked rapid-fire to give him the beginning of an agenda:  
\- Check on Shiro.   
\- Check on the Black Lion—also, clean the Black Lion.   
\- Get the quiznak out of there before the locals decided his head was causing him pain too.   
\- Park on a nicer, less mind-wipey planet.   
\- Try to find the others. Hopefully find Lance.   
\- Figure out some way to fix Shiro—okay, maybe "fix Shiro" wasn't the best choice of words. It wasn't like he was broken, really—and he surely wasn't broken before! Maybe "figure out the best way for Shiro to cope with what had happened to him?" Was that better? Anyway—  
\- Defeat Zarkon.   
\- Save the Universe.   
\- Go home. 

Also, eat breakfast and go pee. 

Totally do-able.

And while he was on the subject of Shiro… Hunk braced himself mid-stretch, turned his eyes but not his neck, and chanced a glance. At some point during the night, Shiro had rolled onto his side, curling tightly around himself, and pulling the reflective blanket close in his grasp. That was… good? He could still move voluntarily at least, Hunk reasoned, grasping at any signs of positivity.

Hunk leaned in for a closer look, noting Shiro's still smooth brow, slack expression, and the continued steady rise and fall of his chest. "Hey. Hey, Shiro. Buddy?" he called softly. He paused to check for any reaction before continuing. "Let's eat something, then we'll see what sort of shape the Black Lion's in, okay?" There was no response. No indication that Shiro had even heard him, let alone understood him. (What are you going to do? What if he's like this forever? You can't take care of him! You can barely take care of yourself!) Hunk's stomach gave an uncomfortable gurgle. 

(I don't have time for this!) "Or, you know what, you've had a long couple of days," Hunk said as he sat back upright. His words came quickly, near franticly. "You sleep in, I'll take care of things this morning. Leave everything to me." 

Hunk collect a few of his cast aside tools from the floor, spot checked Yellow's console just in case the others had miraculously stumbled upon them in the past few hours and made contact, then grabbed a tube of food goo from his stash before heading for the exit. He paused at the cockpit entrance, finding himself looking down at Shiro again. What _was_ he going to do? "Um, Yellow," Hunk said, looking up at the ceiling like the Lion was somehow just above him rather than all around him, "if he wakes up or anything, and I mean anything, could you maybe let me know?" 

A low, comforting rumble spread through Hunk's chest. Yellow was there for him. Always. "Thanks buddy…"

**Agenda for the Day  
Item One: Assess Black Lion's Current Physical Status**

After a thorough examination, Hunk felt confident in saying that the damage to the Black Lion's exterior was purely cosmetic—a scuff, a scratch, maybe a few chips of paint—which he supposed was good news. The bad news, then, was that the reason she was unresponsive had to lie on the inside. That meant he needed to do some cleaning before he did anything else.

A water pack had to be sacrificed for the effort. One less he'd have to count once he got around to inventorying Black's supplies, he told himself. His anxiety flared momentarily with the thought of that one, single water packet one day possibly being the difference between life and death, but he quieted the thought by presenting it with a bigger problem: they had until the moonrise. 

Hunk bent over on his hands and knees scrubbing from the pilot's chair towards the consoles, doing his best to rid them of the rust-colored remains of Shiro's last battle with the Galra. "How is he still alive? Seriously? I've seen horror movies with less blood than this." A bit of water and the Altean version of a chamois cloth weren't his first choice when it came to cleaning up biohazards, but he was on a deadline and had limited supplies. Corners had to be cut somewhere. "This is super unsanitary. And that's coming from the guy who barfed all over the inside of Blue, okay? I know what an unsanitary Lion looks like." 

With no bucket to rinse the cloth, he'd been forced to flip it, fold it, do anything to find another useful surface to continue. "I promise, I'll clean this better once we're… safe. Elsewhere. Not about to be brainwashed by some crazy cult. But for now, that'll have to do." He dropped the cloth in a corner, making a mental note to dispose of it later. Now the real work could commence.

Hunk cracked his knuckles, grabbed his tools, and started pulling the covers off consoles to see if he could find the root of the problem. "I just have to get you flying again, then we're out of here." The inner workings of the Lions' cockpits were a mix of wires and tubes, circuits and crystals. One opened panel looked very much like another. If he could find one that looked somehow dissimilar, maybe that would give him some answers. 

"So, based on previous experiences, you all can sort of heal yourselves, right?" Hunk asked, trying to make conversation, keep his non-responsive patient calm as he continued to poke and prod in her now open compartments. "I mean, the time's I've seen it have been for little minor things, but still, you went ten thousand years without an oil change and you're still in working order. Or at least were in working order. That's pretty cool. It's nice that you all can do that. Especially since I have no idea what I'm looking at here." If Black's leg had fallen off—heck, if Black's leg had fallen off and gotten lost in a black hole—Hunk felt he'd have been perfectly capable of fixing it. The moment crystals and tubes full of weird glowing liquid were through into the mechanical mix, though, Hunk became a little less certain in his abilities. And there were an awful lot of crystals and tubes full of weird glowing liquid behind the panels in Black's cockpit. "So if left on your own, eventually you would be able to fix yourself, right?" 

Hunk pried the coverpanel off the compartment at the very foot of the controls. "Oh. Maybe not with that." The room filled with an eerie throbbing violet glow. One of five crystals floating inside the compartment had shattered into a handful of pieces and was pulsing with a very Galra-colored energy. Hunk stared at it for a long moment in a silent mix of fear, horror, and wonder. Without his own voice to disturb the quiet of the room, he could begin to hear his heartbeat. It was then he noticed the pulse of the energy matched the pulse inside him. "That's not creepy or anything." 

While digging through Yellow's supplies, Hunk could remember seeing some crystals stored in vials, all different sizes. Replacements, he'd thought. Now he'd see if he was correct or not. Black's own store were exactly where Hunk had found them in Yellow. He gathered a handful of what looked to be the right size, grabbed a few useful looking tools and hurried back to kneel again at the foot of the controls. The pulsing light sped up ever so slightly.

After comparing his vialed crystals with the ones still intact inside the console, Hunk narrowed down his selection to find his replacement and prayed there was no Altean equivalent of standard and metric crystals. He started to grab for the glowing shattered shards, then thought better of it. This wasn't some busted bolt he could grab barehanded with no worries. This thing could feel his heartbeat. Hunk gently slid his replacement crystal from its vial and onto his lap, then used a pair of what looked like forceps to carefully clasp onto the crystal pieces and slide them each into the vial. The violet glow pulsed brighter the closer the shards came to Hunk's body. Yeah, those would have to be disposed of as well. With the last of the shards in the vial, Hunk wiped the forceps on an exposed bit of his underarmor.

"Here we go," Hunk said, picking up the replacement crystal with the forceps and attempting to maneuver it into place. "Maybe this will help you feel betterrr—"

Black was alive again. The moment the crystal slid into place, her controls lit up like an explosion. She went from her side to one her feet in a flash, sending Hunk tumbling across the cockpit floor and into one of his opened side panels. She was turning this way and that, a step in this direction, two in the other. Worry, fear, uncertainty. The foreign acidic twinge was back. She roared, again and again, calling. Shiro. Where was Shiro?

Hunk was being tossed about like he was on a carnival ride. "Black? Black, is that you?!" And the return of yesterday's distinctly unpleasant feeling made him feel like he'd eaten at one too. "You gotta stop. You gotta stop! Listen, I just cleaned this place! So unless you want my inner workings to end up sprayed all over your inner workings, you might want to tone it down a bit!" 

Yellow relayed an image to him of mild concern and confusion. 

Black stilled, quieted, and quelled the energy thrumming along Hunk's nerves.

"Thank you. Thank you… Oh man… good to know you're back in working condition, though." Hunk patted the floor fondly, but continued to lie still, taking deep breaths through his mouth. There was still food goo churning at the back of his throat. "So, that… feeling or energy or whatever, were you using it to find someone to help you and Shiro?" Black flashed an image of Shiro, doubled over with pain, along with a slight impression of what Hunk thought was unintentional embarrassment. Black could take care of herself. He paladin had needed help. "Oh, just Shiro." 

It felt a little like cheating, having another of the Lions in his head. Having Shiro and the others crawling around in his head hole was one thing, but with the Lions it was much more intimate. It wasn't like having a conversation. It was more like thinking to yourself, talking to yourself. And that was a topic Hunk knew a lot about.

"Wait a minute," he said, easing himself onto his elbows with a sudden realization. "I found Shiro yesterday. I mean, I guess you saw that, because the tingle went away. Why bring it back?" 

But where, Black was asking. Where was Shiro now? 

Hunk cocked an eyebrow. "He's asleep. Inside Yellow. In the cockpit. Can you… can you not feel him?" 

By way of an answer, his nerves blazed with a sudden wave of worry and fear.

"This is bad."

**Item Two: Assess Shiro's Current Mental Status**

Yellow hadn't so much as mentioned Shiro all day—Black had, Black had mentioned him a lot, was still mentioning him a lot—so Hunk wasn't sure why he expected to find anything but the same scene he had left earlier that morning. Still, he fought to conceal his disappointment at the sight of Shiro still curled under the reflective blanket sleeping soundly. His brow was smooth; his expression was blank.

Hunk took a deep breath and knelt on the floor beside him. He placed a hand on Shiro's shoulder and began to shake it gently in short intervals. "Shiro? Hey, Shiro," he whispered. Shiro moved freely in his grip but made no motions of his own. Hunk shook a little more forcefully, spoke a little more loudly. "Please wake up. Just for a little bit, man. Let me know you're okay." 

Shiro turned his head slightly. His brows tensed by degrees. His lips curved with displeasure. Hunk had never been so happy to see Shiro look agitated. He leaned in closer, increasing the frequency of his shakes. "Shiro? Come on. You can do this. Don't leave me here, man."

It seemed to take far more energy than necessary, but after struggling for a long moment, Shiro's lashes fluttered and his eyes opened. "Hey. Hey, there." Hunk tilted his head to try to parallel Shiro's. He ran his hand up and down the human length of Shiro's right bicep. "Look at me, Shiro. I really need you to try to focus, okay? Come on, Shiro. Right here."

Shiro shifted, attempting to look at him with tired, half-lidded, clouded eyes, but he didn't seem to really see him. It was more like he was looking toward him. In his general direction, really. Hunk felt his shoulders sag along with his hopes. Leaving his hand on Shiro's shoulder, Hunk righted himself, but allowed his posture to slouch.

It probably broke every rule about ethics and Chain of Command and addressing senior officers he'd learned at the Garrison, but it checked all the boxes in his personal code of human decency: Hunk pulled off one of his gloves, then allowed himself to brushed the hair from Shiro's forehead and slowly ran his open hand down Shiro's cheek to tenderly cup his face. Shiro closed his eyes, turning his face into the gesture. Then Shiro's head titled to the side, settling against Hunk's notebook. His brow relaxeded, his expressions fell, and he was once more asleep.

"This is bad."

**Item Three: Implement plans for departure.**

**Correction: _Make_ plans for departure.**

The star holding his current little system together had passed nearly three quarters of the way across the sky, and still Hunk was on terra firma, able to see it. Standing in the open field, arms crossed over his chest, he stared up at Yellow and Black, trying to will his brain to work through the chaos firing across his neurons and find a solution. He had two working Lions, one working pilot, and one really not working pilot. The math didn't figure. Sure, the Lions had been known to move on their own—Black and Green had protected Shiro and Pidge that time, not to mention Red having to lunge after Keith once he'd brilliantly jettisoned himself out into the open voids of space—but could a Lion set out across the universe on a potentially long-range solo flight? One of them might have to. Because there was no way he could leave one of them behind. Zarkon would snatch if up in a tick, or worse yet, the locals might decide to "heal" it. And the moon would be rising soon.

Movement at the bottom of the hill caught Hunk's attention. He turned to find a small crowd of yesterday's "friends" staring up at him as they made their way along the dirt path, baskets in their hands. He suddenly wished he had something to hide behind. Sure, there were two enormously huge robot lions in front of him, but that would be too conspicuous. His bravado would have to do. 

"Yep! Making final preparations now," Hunk said, voice loud and clear, booming from his diaphragm. "We'll be gone before you know it! Thank you again for all you've done! We'll be leaving soon! Although you did say we had until the moonrise! So we might end up staying just a little bit longer! Good bye!" His onlookers appeared startled for just a moment, then continued about their business, heads lowered, shoulders drawn. He was willing to bet money they were talking about the "stranger" and how they "knew there were others."

Hunk's emotional brain was stuck in a loop of four letter words repeating at various volumes and intensities. His logical brain was grasping at straws, proposing theories far beyond his current scientific capabilities. His conscious brain was attempting to sort through it all, barely keeping control. 

Two Lions, one pilot. Two Lions, one—he couldn't think straight. What if one carried the other? Two Lions, one pilot. Was that possible? Was that a thing they could do? Two Lions, one pilot. Black had carried Red, right? Or had he dreamed that?

"This is bad."

But somewhere deep within it all, in what was probably the last quiet corner of his existence, an image appeared. 

The Black Lion.

Hunk wasn't sure if it was an offer or an idea, but either way it was worth a shot. He squared his shoulders, marched across the open field toward her, and promptly… started babbling. 

"Hi. Hello. Um, I'm Hunk, but you probably already knew that. Especially seeing as, I, uh, I fixed you earlier. And we had that little talk. Um, look, Shiro's kind of… not himself right now. Which. You also probably already knew. But we need to get off this planet, like, as soon as possible, if not before. I don't think Shiro will be up to piloting any time soon, and I'm not really sure the Yellow Lion would be able to carry you out of here, so I was wondering if maybe, just this once, I could possibly… pilot you?" 

In one fluid, graceful movement, the Black Lion lowered her colossal head, opened her jaw, and extended her walk way. "Thank you! Thankyou-thankyou-thankyou! I swear, after this, I'm back to being a leg, but for right now, thank you so much. You are probably, literally saving our lives."

**Item Four: Um, where were they going once they left?**

"Yeah. I realize now that this probably should have been item three on the agenda." Hunk wasn't sure if that little rumble coming from Black was from amusement or frustration. He liked to think that the fact she was currently flying through space holding Yellow in her mouth like he was the universe's biggest kitten made their situation more humorous than hopeless. 

Hunk leaned back in his chair, muttering to himself. "Okay, we need a planet with breathable air, liquid water, some sort of food source. Preferably no large predators, no temperature extremes. We'll need protection from the sun. Oh, and if the locals aren't some crazy cult or, you know, the Galra, that would probably be good too." Basically, they needed a "Goldilocks" planet. Or as Coran would put it: "A relaxing place to live out the rest of their lives. "

Coran… Hunk wondered what he was doing.

Black's screens came to life with maps and images, a trajectory being laid out before them. 

"Hm?" Hunk reached forward to tap his way through the data, making out what he could of the Altean script, the rest of the information coming to him by way of Black. There was a small blue, green, and white swirled marble somewhere ahead of them that looked shockingly familiar, while at the same time very different. "Oh man, that looks perfect! Although, it is pretty far," he noted. Black questioned that. "But I'm with you, Black. If you think it sounds good, I trust your judgement. I'm behind you, or actually inside of you, one hundred percent."

Yellow echoed his approval, and that settled the matter. Black locked in their course.

Hunk drummed his fingers on the controls. He should have brought the tablet. He was between tasks. They'd escaped before moonrise, that task could be put to bed once he'd properly filed and catalogs all the "what could have beens," "what I should have dones," and "what might have happeneds." They'd face new challenges once they landed, he was sure, but what tasks might that bring? His logical brain was already making plans based on what sort of environments they might find. (If we could land somewhere that's experiencing late summer or fall, there's a better chance of finding harvestable crops.) Meanwhile his emotional brain was starting to make bets against him. (How much longer can you keep this up? You're bound to fail eventually!) He needed a distraction. Math, he needed number. "Well," Hunk said, rising from his chair and attempting to nonchalantly stretch his back. "Might as well dig through storage and see what goodies you and Shiro are bringing to the 'wait to be rescued' party."

.....

A gentle, rumbling purr stirred Hunk from sleep. He blinked himself awake, taking a moment to remind himself where he was and why there was a different colored glow to the cockpit. A cool blue light filtered through on Black's visuals to give shape to their destination: leaves, trees, fog. "Oh." The word stuck in Hunk's throat. His mouth was dry from hanging open while he slept propped up in the pilot's seat. He opened and closed his mouth a few times to attempt to rewet it. "We're here."

Pushing back the reflective blanket he'd pulled from storage while doing his inventory, Hunk stretched. "Black," he said, patting the console, "it was an honor and a privilege." She purred under his touch. "Thank you again." Hunk gathered the blanket and a few other items he'd pulled from storage and made his way outside. 

The breaking dawn was cool and damp, leaving an immediate chilled film on Hunk's skin. This new world smelled fresh, green, growing, full of possibilities. Hunk filled his lungs with the smell, releasing it slowly. The two Lions nearly filled a hilltop opening in the foliage. To their backs, tall, thin trees rose up to nearly the top of Black's head. Before them, the forest began again, rising from underbrush to similar heights beyond, all of it colored in foggy blues and greens. The forest was alive with the soft sounds of wildlife. "This is… not bad." Hunk turned in place to take it all in, then cast a glance skyward to the changing light of morning. "I guess I'll know more once I see it in the daylight, but so far so good." 

"Hey, buddy," Hunk called, turning his attentions to Yellow. "Smooth ride? Shiro still okay?" Yellow rumbled in the affirmative. "Good job." Something moved in the trees behind Hunk. He hoped it wasn't a big something. Maybe he should have been more specific when he asked for no "large predators." What was small to the Lions might still be enormous to him. Those trees were pretty tall in places. He'd definitely need to keep his bayard with him. And preferably not try to throw it at the problem this time. He may or may not have moved a little more quickly up Yellow's lowered entry ramp than usual.

Inside, Hunk found Shiro still asleep. He'd turned himself again, now lying on his opposite side with the reflective blanket only half covering him. Hunk straightened the blanket, then gently patted his shoulder, earning him a small sigh from Shiro.

Any moment the sun should be breaking over the tree-hidden horizon. But… there wasn't any reason Hunk couldn't sleep for just a bit longer, right? After all they'd been through, Hunk was fairly certain he'd earned a few more hours of shut eye. He laid down on his side on the floor opposite Shiro, spread his own blanket over himself, used his arm for a pillow—he'd try to find something to use for one tomorrow—and vowed to sleep in as long as he wanted, no regrets. Tomorrow, which had technically already started, was another day.


End file.
